


(this better be) graded on a curve

by Guzmanasol



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cities as plot devies, Gen, Not actually all knowing older sisters, Proving yourself, Tests of Worthiness, The Maple Leafs are cursed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9416786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guzmanasol/pseuds/Guzmanasol
Summary: When you don't know you're being tested, it's easy to fail.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for shannon.
> 
> prompts were tests of worthiness and elephant in the room.

It starts in the days before the World Cup, and it continues into his rookie year. Auston’s got an apartment in the city now, and he mostly doesn’t get lost in the Toronto streets anymore. He’s got a favorite coffee shop, a list of good lunch places that fit his diet plan, and a quietly building sense of optimism that’s starting to overwhelm the cold nerves that have been present since Auston stepped off of the stage at the draft in Maple Leaf blue. The city is coming alive with the promise of hockey soon and Auston thinks he’s coming alive with them. He sings along to songs he’s tried to convince the world he’s too cool to know as he drives to practice and to interviews, and tries to ignore the shadows in the corner of his eyes. There’s nothing moving on his balcony at night. Auston knows he’s being watched on and off the ice, by Toronto and the league, just like he has been for over a year now. But there’s a distinct sense of things being wrong that he gets once he’s away from the rinks.  Unlocking his apartment is like opening Pandora’s box.

 

“There isn’t anyone here. No one was here earlier. Dad and Mom are the only other people who have keys, and they’re still back home. There is nothing to worry about.” Auston repeats this under his breath everyday as he takes the five steps from the elevator to his door. It mostly works. The nights it doesn’t? Well, that’s why he has teammates to invite over, bringing noise and light and mess with them. Chirping Mitch and Willy keeps Auston’s unease at bay. He’s with his team, with his boys, and that means he’s safe. Not that there’s anything to keep Auston safe from. This is Toronto, a relatively safe city in a relatively safe country in a secure building.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, on the first morning he wakes up to writing on his bedroom wall, Auston thinks that Eichs and Larks have flown up earlier to continue their terrible pranks from Ann Arbor.  But the omen (and Auston has to talk himself out of googling the difference between types of freaky writing on the wall twice as he eats breakfast) isn’t consistent with either Jack’s blunt style or Dylan’s tendency to go off on tangents. Whoever wrote this had a point to make and steady hands. Auston texts them anyway, because his asshole teammates trying to prank him is the only explanation that will let Auston go to sleep that night. 

 

Throughout the rest of the day, Auston ignores the slanting, silvery writing that looks like the cursive Mrs. Monroe tried to teach them in third grade with minimal success. It’s not like there’s something else he can do when both of his texts prove that Larks is still in Detroit, trying to claim he’s on his way to growing a beard like Zetterberg’s, and Eichs is still running around Buffalo with Reinhart, being dumbasses and crashing people’s proposals. His family will be coming up in a few days for the first serious match, and even if they had come up earlier, none of them would have tried to fuck with his head like this.

 

* * *

 

The World Cup of Hockey is intense and loud and everything Auston loves about hockey (though he would appreciate a better ending, for a team he’s proud to play on and the buddies he’s playing with). His parents are pleased that he’s settling in so well, and even the scrutiny of the cameras can’t get them down. Auston’s a little worried that his mom would be upset about the cameras that are on her during games, but she laughs and reminds him that “An Ema Matthews smile is something to be shared”. It’s comforting in its familiarity, a reminder that his mom has always been as happy and excited as he is about his accomplishments. Dad is a little quieter, but he always is, and Auston gets tugged into more hugs with him than he can count. 

 

His sisters are here too, both of them missing classes for a few days to see him. Well, in theory Alexandria and Breyana are here to see him. Alexandria is catching up with some friends she’s made in the stands over the years while Auston plays, though she makes it a point to snag the seat next to him during meals he has with his family. Breyana is there when their parents are, but she doesn’t really talk to Auston or even about him, preferring to use her phone whenever there’s an opportunity to talk to him. Auston is all about keeping a well curated Instagram, but he doesn’t know when he’s next going to get downtime with Bre between her school and golf schedule and the not unsubstantial time commitment that comes with playing hockey as a job, so he’d appreciate an indication that he isn’t suddenly the invisible boy from his little sister. 

 

“She say anything yet?,” Alexandria asks at dinner the night before Auston’s family is flying out. Auston has to lean close to hear her, because the place mom picked is packed and noisy, and Alexandria was trying to be quiet enough that Breyana wouldn’t hear her.  With a sigh, Dria repeats her question and then it’s Auston’s turn to sigh as he shakes his head no. Breyana, for reasons that Auston isn’t completely certain of, is pissed with him and not talking. 

 

Breyana doesn’t talk to Auston (well, she doesn’t talk to him outside of whole family conversations) before she flies back to Arizona. He’s starting to move from annoyed to actually angry, because Auston doesn’t know what to say or how to fix whatever he’s done to make Breyana hate him. Alexandria snorts in disdain when he mentions this to her as she packs the night before their flights. Auston’s holding her suitcase shuts while Dria tugs the zipper shut.  In the space of only ten days, his sister has apparently doubled the amount of clothes she owns but Alexandria failed to get another suitcase to hold said clothes. With a final yank, Alexandria is packed and ready to pick back up with her life in Arizona. 

 

Auston is left to go back into his bedroom, and look at all the signs he won’t be going home with them. He’s excited for the season, always is, but Auston doesn’t think anyone could blame him for being nervous about being left alone in an apartment where the walls have more writing on them than decorations. But it’s not like Auston can walk into the living room, say “So I’m either being haunted or punked. No, I don’t have a concussion. Anyone want to stay with me so that I don’t run screaming?”, and be taken seriously. He’s not even sure that anyone else has seen the writing, silvery and spiderweb thin, above his bed. 

 

* * *

 

It’s months later, when the writing has finally filled in the last empty space on his bedroom wall and moved to his bathroom, when Auston tries to convince himself to watch a Knicks-Raptors game instead of calling someone. He holds off for a quarter and half of another, but grabbing a bottle of water means coming face to face with the lines written above his shelves. Auston isn’t sure who he should call, because nowhere in the American education system does it cover who to call when you might have a spirit leaving you ominous messages.  

 

Scrolling through his contacts, he skips over anyone he knows from hockey, or school, or who is a friend of a friend at best. It leaves him with only five people, and most of them aren’t going to be able to drop everything to come see him in Toronto based on the photos Auston’s taken of his walls, bathroom, and windows. It feels childish to call Alexandria to deal with this, but she’s Auston’s sister and if anyone would humor him enough to come up to Toronto it would be her. He sends her the photos with a brief explanation and then calls her, picks at the loose threads on his jeans as his phone rings and rings while he waits for her to pick up.

 

_ “Ok, whoever came up with this needs to take a poetry class. Or even just a normal English class because this is a mess and I feel for whoever had to transcribe it.”  _ It’s the first thing Alexandria says to him, and it’s comforting in the way her bluntness almost always is. 

 

“For all you know, the sprite-mage-whatever wrote it themselves.”

 

“ _ Right, because an incorporeal being totally could pick up a sharpie and start writing bullshit prophesies and quests on your bedroom wall.” _

 

“Alexandria, can you wait to be a smartass until you’re here in person? Please?”

 

“ _ I will kiddo, just let me get inside Jitters and get out my laptop, and then I promise I’m booking a ticket up there.” _

 

_ “ _ Let me know what I need to Venmo you before you do.”

 

“ _ Kiddo. Don’t.” _

 

_ “ _ Let me, ok? I could really use some friendly faces and I kinda…”

 

“ _ Aww, kiddo, it’s ok to say you miss your favorite sister.” _

 

“Shut up Dria, we all know Breyana is my favorite. And don’t think you can get away with not telling me what I need to send you for the flight and shit.”

 

“ _ I take two minutes to order a cup of coffee and find a seat, and you’re acting like I’m ignoring you. Ugh, ok which airport will get me to your place faster, Pearson or Billy Bob? Side note, I can’t believe they have a Billy Bob airport.” _

 

_ “ _ Dria, it’s Billy Bishop and quit obsessing over the names and just pick a flight already.”

 

“ _ OK, it’s $151 for a nonstop from Phoenix to Toronto that’ll leave after my internship tomorrow.” _

 

_ “ _ Bullshit it’s $151, tell me what the full thing with tax and fees is. And wait, I thought your last day with your internship was a week ago.”

 

“ _ Auston, it’s like maybe only an extra 25 dollars, don’t bother to send that. I stayed an extra week to finish the website’s relaunching with all the new features.” _

 

“I’m sending $250, because I can’t pick you up tomorrow since we’ve got video sessions all day and I don’t know what an Uber from the airport will cost. And Dria….”

 

“ _ Kiddo?” _

 

_ “ _ I’m really grateful you’re coming up here. I know this isn’t really how you wanted to spend your break.”

 

“ _ Because it’s such an awful thing, spending time with my baby brother who I haven’t seen in weeks. Cut the crap Auston, and make sure that you actually have food in the fridge that isn’t sprouting and starting a new ecosystem.” _

 

_ “ _ I take it back, I totally am not grateful and I don’t miss you at all.”

 

_ “Whatever kid, I need to finish this paper and then pack before I leave tomorrow afternoon. Love you, bye, don’t do shit I’ll have to explain to Abuela or Nana.” _

 

“Alexandria! Seriously… love you, bye.”

 

It’s a relief to slump into his couch and know that he just has to hold it together for another day before someone is here to help. Auston grabs his remote and starts scrolling through the basketball games on tonight, pointedly not looking towards the windows to his left. The… whatever had moved from scrawling messages on the walls of his bedroom to the bathroom mirror yesterday, and the windows in the living room today. Auston doesn’t think about where else the writing will spread because he needs to sleep at some point tonight. And it’s probably going to be on the couch, because going into his bedroom now makes him shudder and keeps him on edge. Nothing has actually happened to him…. Well, nothing has happened yet. 

 

* * *

 

Auston doesn’t dream that night. He hasn’t dreamed in weeks on the nights he’s managed to force himself to sleep in his apartment. He hasn’t moved in his sleep either, wakes up in the same exact position he fell asleep in. Auston’s accidentally kicked enough people during sleepovers to know that this is not normal for him, and it just serves as another tally on the list of things that are creeping him out in Toronto. 

 

* * *

 

Mitch takes away his keys when Auston shows up at Marns’ place in the morning, eyes and heart heavier than anything he’s ever lifted in the weight room. It’s a frigid Tuesday and Auston is supposed to drive the carpool today, but Mitch has snatched his keys away before Auston can shove them into his coat pocket. His exhaustion makes it easy to summon up a glare, but apparently Mitch is totally immune to grumpy bastards. Or so Mitch claims, grin stupidly big for just barely seven in the morning. 

 

“Grab your juice and let’s go. I wanna get Shay to look at my wrist before we get sucked into the weight room and video sessions.”

 

Auston’s scooping up the orange and pomegranate blend that Rich swears by, but he’s coordinated enough to sneak a peek at Marns’ wrist after this. There are no bruises, but there’s a strange tinge to the skin around his wrist that leaks down to his left hand-- like food coloring was spilled on his hand and the stain only partially washed off. He sips at his juice and thinks back on what he’d found written on his windows yesterday morning, silver and looping -- 

 

“ _ Ink, blood, wine shall be the three marks for the forged one to decipher. When the moment comes that the world turns to summer, a marked child shall bring forth an age of justice and an age of misfortune. This shall be the mark of Ink, and it shall reign longest of the three.” _

 

* * *

 

Dria is singing along to a song in French ( _ Elle va t'larguer comme elles font chaque fois _ , so at least Auston remembers something from high school French) when he gets back from practice as she seems to throw around every pot and pan that his parents had helped him stock the kitchen with. It’s loud and punctuated by occasional swearing at the unfamiliar stove, an audio assault after a grueling practice and video session to get ready for the Caps in two days. Auston is dropping his bag and kicking off his boots in a frantic scramble to go see his older sister. Alexandria will tell him what she thinks-- if he’s hallucinating, if someone else is trying to fuck with him, or if there really is some sort of spirit scribbling prophecies and omens and grocery lists on his apartment. Auston doesn’t know what option he wants it to be but he is convinced that anything is better than this enveloping sense of dread he gets when he comes home. But first, a quick pitstop. 

 

“Don’t eat the bread! Seriously how many times have you been told not to snack when we’ve already got it set out?”

 

Auston has to grin sheepishly because yeah, there is some delicious baguette in his mouth and crumbs in the hand he has cupped under his chin. But Alexandria is grinning too, looking so like the pictures of Nana Matthews in her twenties that Dad swears it’s either time travel or cloning. She’s still dressed for Arizona weather in ripped jeans and a crop top that makes all of Auston’s teammates back home act weird around her, and she looks so much like home that he feels like he can actually breathe here. Dria throws her arms wide, sauce from the spoon in her right hand going flying across the kitchen, and smirks at him, “First you won’t meet me at the airport, then you deliberately put fake spiders in the guest room, and now you’re too good to hug your sister? I oughta kick your scrawny ass back to the States.”

 

“There’s no way you’ve done enough weight training to pull that off,” Auston mumbles around the last bit of baguette. Alexandria just glares at him and he gives in. Hugging her makes him feel like a little kid. It’s been years since she was taller than him, but there’s a steadiness in her hugs that makes him feel like a kindergartener again. Growing up, everyone talked about how different they were-- Alexandria bold and impishly clever, Auston quiet and pensive-- but it has always been comforting to him, that even as wildly different as they are, his sister still gets him. So does Breyana. Or well, so did Breyana, but it feels like forever since the last time they had a chance to test that. But that’s a wound too fresh to touch now, not when there’s a presence or a prankster in his apartment. His stomach churns, and Auston tries to convince himself that it’s just because he’s hungry. There’s nothing to be afraid of, no reason to want to drag Alex out to dinner and just never come home. Nothing is happening, nothing has happened, and nothing will happen.

 

“Well then,” Alexandria drawls out and continues to stare at the writing on the windows. It’s the most she’s said in the entire time they’ve been looking over everything that’s been written in the apartment after they finished the penne alla vodka she’d made. She sighs and continues, “Kiddo, I was really hoping this was some stupid  _ I can’t admit I just miss my big sister  _ ploy but ummm. That is not what the frankly concerning wall scribbles are looking like. This is looking like the lead up to a Dateline special.” 

 

“No shit Dria,” Auston snaps at her and then cringes as he remembers how weird this whole situation is, “Sorry sissy.” It takes a few moments of Alexandria looking at him and biting her lip before he realizes what else he just said. Over the years, the childish nickname for her had been replaced with other nicknames, but it still came back in times of stress and fear. The move away from his family, the draft, and now this were the only times he’d used it in years. Auston doesn’t brood over how all three are tied to hockey somehow. That’s not productive or conducive to sleeping tonight. Then again, neither is having a prophecy on his bedroom wall. He sighs and tries to focus on what Alexandria is saying.

 

“--and honestly, I don’t think this is something we want to take to your building supervisor. Because frankly, I don’t trust him even if half of the team has lived here at some point in the past five years.” Dria nods decisively to herself, convinced that she’s found the best option for now. Auston hopes she has, but he wishes she didn’t have to. 

“So that leaves us doing what, exactly?,” and Auston hopes Dria has thought that far ahead. 

 

“It leaves you playing the Caps and hitting the road, and it leaves me doing some research.” Alexandria sounds calm and assured, and Auston feels a surge of the faith in his sister and even a little in himself. This is what they do and what they’ve always done. A goal has been identified, there’s been preliminary research into options, and they’ve narrowed down their options in time to do the in depth research and planning that their family is known for. 

 

Auston takes his time getting ready for bed after that. He knows that at this point nobody in the PR office or in the press is surprised by the bags under his eyes, and while Auston shouldn’t use that as justification to stay up later and later, he does. Alexandria is in the guest room and the couch is big but he’s napped there enough to know it only ends in pain. He’s brushing his teeth for the third time that night before Auston can admit that he’s scared of going to bed. Going into his bedroom makes Auston feel like there are spiders on his skin and he almost goes right back out. It’s tempting to retreat to the couch or the guest room or hell even go pester a teammate into letting him spend the night there. It’s only a little after eleven, Mo and Willy are both probably still up-- hell, they’re probably at Mo’s playing video games with each other. 

 

Auston doesn’t go, not to Mo’s or out of his bedroom. He’s been afraid and he’s still here, Auston can handle a few more nights before the East coast road trip. He can. 

 

* * *

 

Auston wakes up slowly the next morning. He doesn’t roll over to look out his windows because it’s too early to look at what’s written on the walls. Auston shuts off his alarm and goes stumbling into the bathroom, and keeps his eyes down. It’s too early for the mirror either. He takes a quick shower, not a fan of how vulnerable he feels in there, and is dressed and ready to go in record time.  Back home, Auston thinks, his mother is wondering why he couldn’t ever seem to do that for Aunt Mila’s parties or trips to the airport or every morning of his freshman year of high school. It makes him smile and he’s relaxed enough to glance up at the mirror. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or confidence in Alexandria and himself, but Auston makes himself stare at this section of the prophecy-omen thing. 

 

_ Ink, blood, wine shall be the three marks for the forged one to decipher. In the lands of the north, a town of the people will fall. The palace of the west will be ravaged by the peaceful harbinger. A time of sorrow will follow. This shall be the mark of wine, and it’s reign will be fleeting _

 

Auston, now that he’s looking at it carefully, has to wonder at the wording of this prophecy. Logic dictates that the order of the marks should be the order of the verses, but that’s not the case.  They’re listed ink, blood, wine and the order of the verses is ink, wine, blood. Auston has to smile grimly as something occurs to him-- perhaps the writer fucked up, or maybe changed their mind after the verses had been written on his windows. He’d tried to clean the verses on the window off, but even Windex and the industrial strength version recommended by the employee at Lowe’s hadn’t been able to do anything.  The writing is staying where it is.

 

* * *

 

It’s Bozak who realizes there’s something beyond rookie pressure weighing down Auston. They’re flying down to D.C. to face the Caps, and Auston keeps catching Bozie’s eye when he tries to shift and work out the cramps from being twisted up in his seat. Bozie looks his age for once, serious and considering. It’s different and Auston isn’t sure how he feels about being the reason for grown up Bozie to show up. Like a rational person, Auston ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach as they touch down and disembark the plane in favor of the bus that’s taking them to the hotel they’ll be in for tonight before leaving for Florida right after tomorrow night’s game. Auston fails to consider the fact that Bozie would ignore subtlety and grab Auston by the back of his hoodie when everyone heads out for dinner. It’s not a full team thing, which means that Auston can’t avoid Bozie by using their teammates, as Bozie reminds him cheerfully. 

 

“Not that you would be able to avoid me even with them, kid, because that hasn’t worked yet this season,” and fatherhood has apparently increased Bozie’s ability to annoy people tenfold. Auston doesn’t groan as he is herded away from the last straggling teammates (Mo, as usual, and Brownie) and in a different direction. Bozie doesn’t say anything more till he’s gotten them seated in a quiet grill that seems to be the local spot for workaholics who are emailing contracts even as they order their entrees. Auston fidgets with his menu, picks it up only to set it back down and pick it up again. He still doesn’t know what to order when the tall woman who had seated them circled back to get their orders, and stammers out a request for the special. Auston thinks it might be fish, because he was asked by Kanako if he wanted it grilled or blackened, but he wouldn’t bet money on it. His lucky lately has been the worst it’s ever been.

 

Bozie just raises an eyebrow and drinks his beer. Auston knows that Bozie is waiting for him to talk and he isn’t going to play this game. He sips his water and raises an eyebrow back. Bozie chuckles but still doesn’t admit defeat. Kanako drops off their salads and vegetable medleys, and they’re still dead silent. Auston starts thinking about the text Alexandria had sent him,  _ ok we finally have the third verse and it makes the usual amount of sense. Ughhhhh, why can’t whoever/whatever drop the bad prose and get to the pointttt,  _ and the fact that she hadn’t answered his last three messages. Which were, admittedly, just question marks and emojis but that had never stopped her before. He stabs his squash with what would charitably be called excessive force and stares at the blackened fish on his plate (and at least he’d been right about that). Bozie laughs at that, and it makes Auston think. Yeah, he’s got Alexandria working on figuring out this omen thing, but Bozie has been in Toronto a long time. He knows things. 

 

“Do you ever…,” Auston starts and pauses, “when you’re at home, do you ever see messages?”

 

Bozie is quiet for a minute as he finishes his beer. He sighs and nods slightly when he’s done, “So you’re seeing it now too.”

 

Auston doesn’t know what to make of that. He had spent weeks expecting to be laughed at or told he was hallucinating, and Bozie is acting like this was only a matter of time. The rage moves like bile, burns the back of Auston’s throat and he grits his teeth to hold it back. After a minute he has himself under enough control to snap at Bozie-- “Explain. Now.” And maybe that was harsh and rude but Auston finds he doesn’t give a fuck. 

 

“A few of us have gotten messages, generally weird ones, in places we can’t ignore. Dion got them on the inside of his cars, I get them carved into my furniture, and Phil never said where he got his but he did get them,” Bozie sighs and messes with the label on his beer bottle, “and it looks you get to join the club, rookie, since it sounds like you’re the newest target.”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with all of you? No one bothers to mention this shit at camp, which would’ve been nice. I thought there was a stalker in my fucking apartment,” Auston seethes. He wishes they were back in Toronto, because iced tea is not the drink for this conversation. 

 

“Look, none of us have ever actually figured out what the messages are or how they got there. We set up cameras, hired investigators to look for stalkers, did everything we could think of,” Bozie’s smile is rueful and tiny as he continues, “we were being tested and we failed.”

 

They’re quiet as Bozie pays for dinner (for once, without having to be conned to do so) and walk back to the hotel. Auston doesn’t know what to make of this revelation, let alone how to tell Alexandria that apparently this is just a really freaky thing that happens to dudes who play for the Maple Leafs. He has to wonder if it stops with trades, or if Kessel and Phaneuf are still getting creepy messages in Ottawa and Pittsburgh. Auston isn’t sure what he’d do with that information, even if he could find a way to bring it up in an implausible situation where he could ask Kessel or Phaneuf, because even in the few short months he’s been here Auston has become attached to Toronto. Maybe it’s not where he was born or the city that shaped him into who he is now, but it’s the city that wanted Auston and has continued to want him. 

 

* * *

 

They win and win and win before flying back to Toronto. Auston spent the quiet afternoons between lunch and pre-game naps questioning Bozie for all the information he could get. There’s not a lot of information to get, but Auston texts everything he finds out to Alexandria. 

 

The stain on Mitch’s wrist has spread, and some of the other guys have their own stains now. No one else seems to see them, but Auston takes note. Mo’s stain is a purplish blue that spread down to his left elbow. Connor’s is the sickliest looking yellow-green thing, and looks super weird when he runs his hand through his hair. Roman has one that covers both palms and looks like he was crushing blackberries in his hands. Auston can’t find any rhyme or reason to who has marks or where or why. It’s one more puzzle piece for him to think about each night when he tosses and turns and tries to feel safe enough in his apartment to go to sleep.

 

Alexandria texts him a steady stream of updates-- leads that seem promising before fizzling out. She’s  been in every public library in Toronto and probably most of the private research ones, looking for something to build a theory on. Her classes start up in two weeks, and Auston privately thinks that she’s not going to find anything but he hopes that Alexandria does that thing she does where she proves him spectacularly wrong. 

 

Auston’s on the living room floor scrolling through instagram on his phone when he realizes that Breyana hasn’t posted in forever. A quick look at her account shows that her last update was seven months ago, at Niagara Falls before the draft, and Auston feels stupid for having to check up on his sister through instagram. But she still hasn’t responded to the last text he sent, wishing her luck at the state golf tournament she was playing in before Thanksgiving, and Auston can’t force her to talk him. He stares at the five of them huddled together in terrible ponchos and getting soaked. When did Auston become someone his younger sister wouldn’t talk to? He’s distracted enough to not really notice when Alexandria drops down next to him.

 

“Have you talked to her?,” Auston asks in his best monotone. Breyana and Alexandria have been teaming up against him for years, it’s not unlikely that they’re talking. 

 

“Not since right before finals. She didn’t appreciate me telling her to stop sulking,” Dria rolls her eyes as she grabs a pillow off of Auston’s couch to shove under her head on the floor.

 

“I just don’t get it. Like, tell me why you’re mad at me so I can fix it and apologize and we can try to move on. There are enough people who hate my guts, I’d kinda like my sister to not be one of them,” it’s the most that Auston has said about this whole situation in months. 

 

“I don’t think what she’s mad about is something you can fix and I think that’s part of why she’s still hasn’t told you about it. Because in her mind, what’s the point when there’s nothing you can do?,” Dria muses as she tries to stretch her leg up to head. She’s never been the best at staying still, always full of restless energy.

 

“But how does she know I can’t fix it? She’s not even giving me a chance to try,” Auston is a resourceful person. He could totally do some creative problem solving. Except he hasn’t been told what the problem is, which makes solving it almost impossible. 

 

“Which is what I told her before she pretended that she was late to practice and ended our facetime,” Dria finally stops and rolls over onto her stomach to cuddle the pillow before  continuing, “and between that and the messages, I’m almost out of ideas for what to do.”

 

Auston blinks and rolls onto his side to stare at his big sister. He can’t remember the last time Alexandria was out of ideas, hell Auston isn’t even sure that there was a last time when Dria didn’t have at least a Plan X up her sleeve. 

“Like, I can’t actually find anything to prove that the Leafs are cursed and that’s what this is. Hell, even if I did find a record of someone cursing the team, that wouldn’t tell me anything about how to undo it. Is there actually a pantheon of hockey gods that hates this city, is this some random european style of freaking people out or was the ACC built on a site important to the First Nations? Even if I knew that, google probably wouldn’t have a convenient listing of “specialists near you” that could deal with this shit and not tell the press that you’re even more superstitious than Crosby. At this point, I’m ready to tell you to just move out of here.” 

 

“I don’t think that would help,” Auston admits after Dria finally stops her rant, “because from what Bozie said everyone else got the messages no matter where in Toronto they lived.”

 

“For fuck’s sake. None of this shit happens in Arizona.” 

 

“True but Arizona doesn’t have original six hockey, or a playoff spot, or….,” Auston trails off. He’s thinking back on the timing of the messages, and he’s pretty sure he’s onto something.    
  


“Auston?”

 

“The messages didn’t show up until after the cup left Toronto. And that’s when everything felt creepy.”

 

Dria rolls over to face him, eyes distant as she thinks this over. “Maybe it’s not a cup thing. At least not like that.” 

 

Auston blinks at her and waits for her to continue.

 

“We’ve joked about it, about cities feeling… alive. Or dangerous, or friendly. Generally the ones with the most history have the strongest feelings. Maybe Toronto is feeling impatient.”

 

“Look at the comments section on any article or instagram post, everyone in this city is impatient for the cup.” Auston only read the comments once or twice before he learned his lesson.

 

“Not the people that make up the city, but the city itself.” Dria is playing with her hair, braiding it like she does when she needs her hands busy so that her mind can process something. “Toronto won a lot, has high expectations. Did Bozak say anything about getting messages before the finals against the Bruins?”

 

Auston has to think about that conversation almost a week ago, remembers Bozie saying a lot including the fact that-- “They were tested and they failed. So maybe this a warning to not fail again this time. Or else there will be consequences.” 

 

It sounds ridiculous, saying that the city is sentient and is as tired as its citizens of the Leafs’ Cup less streak, but it makes a weird sort of sense. Or as much sense as anything else in Auston’s life right now. 

 

“I have to admit that this is like the scariest reminder to do well that I’ve ever seen, and I’ve taken six semesters of econ with Dr. Shirey who refuses to even consider grading on a curve despite the fact that no one has ever gotten higher than a seventy.”

 

“Are you seriously still mad about that? It was two years ago, Dria, and your GPA made it out alive,” Auston is sort of impressed with Dria’s ability to hold a grudge, “besides, you were the one who got the seventy on the final.”

 

“I am still mad ok, and I will stay mad as long as he gives a bullshit reason for not using a curve. I don’t want to is not an acceptable reason. Either say that you hate your students or give us a valid reason why you won’t curve,” and Auston zones out as Dria rants about her department head’s grading policies. If Toronto wants the Cup, wants to win big, then that’s what they have to do. Auston falls asleep on the floor, thinking of thirty-four pounds lifted above his head and the silvery writing on his walls being replaced by the shine of the Cup. 

 

* * *

 

He wakes up later that night when his phone starts vibrating on his chest with an incoming call. Auston sees two things-- his battery is clinging to life at three percent, and Breyana is calling him for the first time since they were in Buffalo for his draft day. 

 

“Hey Bre, give me a second to go plug this in and then we can talk.”

 

Breyana is quiet when she agrees to wait, but she doesn’t hang up while Auston spends five minutes looking for his charger in his dark living room, and Auston takes it as a win. When Breyana stumbles over her words and admits she just wants to hear how Auston is, he takes it as his cue to start filling her in on everything.

 

“... and I agree with Bozie. We’re being tested. But this time, we aren’t going to fail.” 

 

Auston puts as much certainty as he can into that statement, tries to will it into being true. 

He is not going to fail. This team is not going to fail. They are being tested and they will not fail. 


End file.
